


Roots

by Kirsten



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-01
Updated: 2003-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex wakes without realising, Clark's lips on his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots

**Author's Note:**

> Written for carlanesses in 2003.

Lex wakes without realising, Clark's lips on his. The kiss is sweet and hot like the sun-roasted grass beneath them, like Clark's hands warm and scratchy on his skin, and Lex drifts into it, floating in the breeze.

He remembers his father; remembers going outside into the garden to get away, to hide amongst the trees and the flowers. He'd sat with his files and his laptop, the sun beating down and Chopin tinkling in the distance. It wasn't so bad – Lionel within and Lex without, the mansion not strong enough to hold both of them.

Clark pulls away and sits back on his heels, and paper crunches and tears when Lex moves to follow his kiss. A quick glance to the side reveals Gabe's performance evaluation ripped almost in half. Clark grins. Lex smiles back, and reaches out and tangles his fingers in Clark's hair, kissing and licking and sucking while Clark unfastens his shirt and peels it back from his shoulders, sweat-damp with the heat.

"Lex. I want –"

Clark's voice is hushed, and his words seem to hang in the air, crinkling like late summer leaves. Lex can't resist; he pulls away and nods. "Yeah. Whatever you want, Clark."

Lex watches Clark's chest rise and fall as he hesitates and just breathes for a moment before giving Lex a gentle push. Lex lays back onto dry grass and parched flowers, Clark liquid and flowing above him, touching him with light kisses to his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks and his jaw. Lex runs a hand down Clark's still-clothed back, tugging the cotton from battered old jeans to get at Clark's skin. Lex loves touching him; Clark always feels like sunflower petals.

He manages to get Clark's t-shirt off before Clark takes his hands and pulls them up above his head. Clark's grip is so careful, and it's taken so long for him to do this, weeks of Lex shushing him when the bed began to shake and the sheets began to tear. Clark nips at his throat and then captures his lips again, and Lex drinks him down, pulling long, dark kisses from Clark's mouth while Clark's hand works at his zipper.

Clark doesn't waste time. Lex's boxers go with his pants, and the first touch of late afternoon air on his skin is as much a shock as their very first kiss. His cock grows harder at the memory of Clark's first tentative licks, and he spreads his legs wide, thighs open and apart, cradling Clark and holding him close.

They seem to kiss like that until the next summer, and maybe the next. Sometimes Clark whispers dirty things in Lex's ear, his breath hot and moist, but mostly his whispers are sweet, wrapping Lex in a blanket of words, a cocoon to hold him safe from the world. When Clark doesn't whisper, Lex still hears Chopin, distant but ever present, a sentimental interlude to the wet sounds they make.

Clark rocks against him, slow and certain, denim friction against Lex's naked thighs. Lex groans and arches, wanting more, but Clark keeps his rhythm, his hips smooth and strong. One hand drifts down and plucks at Lex's nipples, strokes lower to his chest and over his stomach. His kisses are still warm, still deep and soft; Clark has amazing lips. Lex wants to keep them on his forever, but Clark kisses them apart and stares down at him, his face open and devoted. Lex wants to shut his eyes, wishes he could sink into the ground and bury himself alive.

Clark takes Lex's hands and weaves their fingers together, grounding Lex, holding him steady to the earth. He keeps rocking, so constant, so careful, and Lex begins to shake, helpless and shuddering under Clark. He can smell dry leaves and grass and flowers, heat and sweat and Clark all around him, and he holds Clark's gaze through his orgasm and comes all over Clark's jeans.

-

The waking this time is sticky, and Lex is fully aware of the transition from sexdream-state to consciousness. Clark's head is heavy on his chest, his hair a sea of dark waves on Lex's skin. Lex lifts a hand and touches it, soothing and tending unruly curls, sluggish and sated in a way he's never been before.

Clark turns his head and presses a kiss to Lex's left nipple. Lex starts to tingle, all over, and Clark sits up and kisses his lips. Once, twice, three times; between the second kiss and the third, he murmurs: "I love you."

Lex swallows. It's all new today.

"I love you," Clark repeats, and Lex pulls him back down and takes his lips to stop him saying it again. "It's okay," he says, when Lex finally lets him back up. He smiles and touches Lex's face; Lex notices grass stains on his hands. "Do you want to come home for dinner?"

Home. Home is with Clark. It's almost too much after weeks of holding back and years of being alone, but Clark takes his hand and weaves their fingers, and the touch grounds him. He takes a moment, and then tries to make Clark understand. "I thought I was dreaming."

Clark laughs, doesn't get it. "Do you often dream about us in the garden?"

"No," Lex says. "I thought I was _dreaming_ , Clark."

Clark stares at Lex forever, until the next summer and maybe the next, and then kisses him, steady and constant. "Not anymore," he whispers, and smiles.


End file.
